


Rocket Man

by KirkyPet



Series: Sweet Home Chicago [2]
Category: Blues Brothers (Movies), Mad Max Series (Movies), Mad Max: Fury Road
Genre: F/M, Homelessness, Prequel, implied sex, these chapters are really short
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-07-25 15:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 8,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16199936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KirkyPet/pseuds/KirkyPet
Summary: Hobo veteran meets one-armed banditAlternative titles:How Furiosa Blues ended up in The JointKind of like Fury Road but on one cold Chicago night





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my Blues Mothers fic on kirkypet.tumblr.com #blues mothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max fails to hitch a ride

Max cursed as he landed, some amalgamation of every swear he knew. The drift was slushy and the stab of pain in his knee brought tears to his eyes.

Shit! he made a panicked hiss through his teeth - no no no - he was not going to freeze to death in this godforsaken railway siding. But he has no car, and if he can’t walk -

No, hold on. It’s fading. He tested it, and breathed a sigh of relief. Just jarred, it would carry him. That was a close one, he grimaced. No more jumping from moving trains, asshole.

Not wanting to sit around in a slushy puddle any longer than necessary, Max got carefully to his feet, slung his bag over his shoulder and slowly trudged off.

*

Where he was headed didn’t matter much. He was freezing cold with nowhere to go. Walking would warm him up. He couldn’t get much colder and still have a pulse. Of all the trains to stow away on, what were the chances it’d be a string of refrigerated cars? What happened to beginners luck? He’d climbed from car to car in search of somewhere habitable to curl up, and ended up venturing too close to the driver’s van.

He’d jumped at the first angry HEY! He didn’t need them calling the cops on him.

Max walked because he didn’t know what else to do. He was all out of ideas. He knew he had to leave Chicago the moment he’d got hauled, half-asleep out of his seat by those fucking carjackers. They’d driven off with his car and all his stuff in the back seat.

All he had left was his toothbrush and his trusty RPG, and that was only because he slept better with it hugged close to his chest. Thankfully he kept it in an old black sports bag, else those bastards would’ve had it too.

You don’t fully appreciate the cosiness of a back seat, bundled up in blankets, until it’s gone. That’s why he’d opted to jump on that long-distance freight. Chicago in winter was no place to be sleeping rough.

And hitchhiking was not an option. Max knew there were only two types of people who stopped for hitchhikers: serial killers and compulsive talkers, the latter being by far the biggest risk. 

*

He’d just about stopped shivering when he encountered signs of life. So this was Coal City? He made for the nearest of the sprawling buildings just as a door opened and a few laughing people emerged. Warm light spilled out the door, and a wave of sound. A woman’s voice singing -

“ - baby don’t you wanna go? Back to that same old place. Sweet home Chicago”

The bluesy rhythm lifted Max’s spirits despite himself, although it was the thought of getting warm that moved him toward the door.

“Sorry pal, gig’s pretty much over. I’m just gettin’ ready to close up” a voice called out above the music. A janitor-looking guy with a broom, sweeping up glass.

“ - back to that same old place, my sweet home Chicago”

Max didn’t argue, didn’t explain. He was too tired to do anything but turn and go back outside. Only to find that, instead of warming him, the brief exposure to the indoors had only made him feel colder, wetter, more exhausted. Everything hurt. This was bad. He went off to try some doors. Someone must’ve left a building unlocked around here.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max finds a bolt hole

Imperceptibly, the sound of scuffling and sniffing became real and not part of the confused dream he’d been having. Poor old Dog. He was a good boy. Max sighed and resigned himself to the here and now, wherever the hell that was.

He was used to it by now - the sleeping and waking in strange places, hiding, waiting to be moved on - but the first few seconds were never any less unnerving  for all that. 

Lifting his head, he assessed the situation. Dark, but for the faint glow from a cooling furnace. A pile of towels, a wooden pallet, packed dirt floor. The air was dank and chilly but it was warm enough close to the boiler.

Yip snuffsnuff

He sat up slowly, as the sleep-fog cleared and the dog’s tail thump-thump-thumped on the floor above. He’d found what he’d been looking for and more: an unlatched coal hole, a warm basement, somewhere quiet to dry out and maybe sleep.

And sleep he had, but now there was a dog. You couldn’t fool a dog.

He carefully tucked himself away under the stairs and huddled, breathless, calculating how quickly he could get to the coal hatch. Not quick enough.

Footsteps, a carpet-slipper shuffle.

“Finnegan! Come!” a man barked from a distance.

Snuff snuffsnuff snuffffff

“Come AWAY, dog.”

Voice getting closer.

“I think it’s a rat in the basement, Bea!” it shouted to someone. “I’m gonna take a look!”

“Like hell you are! If you open that door - !” Bea, presumably, yelled back.

Indistinct grumbling, and the scrabbling of blunt claws on linoleum as the dog was dragged away. All quiet.

Max breathed again. Crisis averted, for now. Just settle down again.

Max wondered how creaky the stairs were. If he could just VERY quietly jam the lock, no one would be able to get in. Because of course it has a lock. Who doesn’t lock the basement door? 

Max sighed. But to what end? Barricade himself into a basement til someone decided to do their laundry?

Well, why not? He couldn’t sleep, but he maybe COULD just stay for a while, where it was dry and comparatively warm. After all, they’d call a locksmith before they’d call the cops.

Yeah, but - the alternative argument went - that’s only if the stairs aren’t creaky, and the dog’s bed isn’t right outside the basement door. Not to mention the whole potential shotgun situation.

He fished the old watchface out of his pocket. Just after midnight. They’d all be asleep soon, if they weren’t already. He could just sit tight, don’t move. Be very quiet. For a little longer.

Max sat there deliberating for the best part of an hour, and probably could have sat there til morning had not an angry sound cut through the air.

One that both complicated and simplified the situation, depending on what side of the argument you were on.

It was clear that his body was warm enough and rested enough to catch up to the fact that he hadn’t eaten in A VERY LONG TIME.

Another gurgle, loud enough to make him worry that it could be heard from upstairs. By a dog, for example.

He could stay if he just had something to eat. What food did people keep in basements? Roots - covered in dirt, probably; raw, well it’d be strange if they weren’t. He could handle a carrot, but not even HE was hungry enough to tackle a raw potato. Maybe there was a refrigerator? 

He got to his feet hopefully, but very quietly, and looked around for white goods. A huge trunk freezer, which he didn’t open. If his grandmother had been anything to go by, there would be nothing in there but raw meat and jam fruit.

With that in mind, he was prepared for the disappointment of finding a small refrigerator entirely full of jelly.

Max closed the fridge door and thought for a moment. He rummaged in his inner pocket and felt some notes there. Gotta be enough for some bread. Oh God, bread and jelly - his mouth watered at the thought, and his stomach loudly rumbled its agreement. There was no longer any doubt.

He pocketed two jars of the stuff, re-folded the towels, now covered in coal smudges - sorry Bea - then carefully lifted a chair to underneath the coal hole grille - no noise - climbing on top - ngh wobbly - hoisted himself and his RPG - silently, silently - up through the hole.

The chair had held him, the hatch had not got stuck - sweat was trickling between Max’s shoulderblades with the effort of not giving himself away.

But he hadn’t reckoned on the small stones that he dislodged while pulling himself up, that rolled and dropped down the coal hole as he scrambled out.

The sound of gravel landing on a packed dirt floor might’ve passed unnoticed but, raining off a flimsy wooden seat, it sounded like peas in a can.

And as Max turned the corner - walking, not running - he heard a voice shouting from ground level “I’M CALLING THE POLICE!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max makes a jam sandwich

Max trotted off at a brisk but hopefully unsuspicious pace. He thumbed the thin roll of notes in his pocket. 

Gotta be at least four bucks there. Don’t spend it all at once.

Up ahead the street lights condensed into a dim nebula. Hunger made Max hopeful, and he hurried on.

A gas station and, thank God, he could see grocery shelves. If it’d been a wiper-blades-and-lube kinda place, he would’ve held it up purely for the attendant’s own sandwiches. With a rocket launcher.

*

Acquainted as Max was with phone booths, he took the precaution of grabbing an armful of flattened cardboard boxes from the pile of trash nearby.

He stacked them up inside and sat on them. It was warmer that way, blocking the wind and keeping his ass off the cold ground. Plus, it served as a barrier against whatever unsavoury crud had accumulated at ground level.

Sitting cross-legged, he’d laid out four slices of Wonder Bread on his knees and dribbled jelly over them. It was some kind of raspberry. It was very good.

Ravenous as he was, he made it last exactly ten minutes, then tucked away the rest of the bread in his bag, along with the impulse-buy Spam. Never shop when you’re hungry. But it would keep.

“Jam’n’Spam” he muttered sleepily, before curling up for a nap while while it was quiet.

*

But it’s hard to sleep when some asshole pulls up six feet away with their high-beams on.

Max squeezed his eyes closed against the light, tucked his head into the crook of his arm and waited for them to drive the fuck on.

But no. The driver killed the lights and the engine, and stepped out. Max opened his eyes. Black shoes, white socks, black pant-legs. Not cop shoes but he readied himself for hassle of some kind, regardless.

Squinting through the Perspex door, he scanned the figure from the ground up. Was that a prosthetic hand? Up some more. The guy looked like some kinda 1950s G-man in his black suit, black hat and sunglasses at 2.30 am.

But as he turned to walk away, Max caught his eye - no, HER eye.

She glanced down at him, barely breaking her step - at him, huddled forlornly in a phone booth. Clearly sleeping rough rather than, say, looking for a dropped contact lens.

It was a strange look, inasmuch as he could tell. Not the kind he usually got - not pitying, not disgusted, but not indifferent either. 

But what did it matter? he thought, leaning back against the Perspex and hugging his knees sullenly. What you got to do for some peace and quiet around here?

Max watched the suit woman take the few steps to the corner, look about her, then disappear. He cast a baleful glance at the offending car. Why’d she leave it here if she was making a quick stop at the store?

A convertible, a Triumph, roof folded down - 

There was no one else in the car. Max looked around. Nobody around. It would be so easy. An electric shiver ran through him - 

Oh shit - ! This was his chance!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max makes a break for it...

Max stepped out of the phone booth with his bag slung safely over his shoulder. A quick glance at the Triumph revealed no unpleasant surprises. No really short person in the passenger seat, for example. No back seat where a dog or a baby might be tucked away. Fairly standard looking controls, should be okay to hotwire. A right-hand-drive stick shift but he could handle that.

But before he got started, he felt the urge to check the coast was clear. She could be on her way back RIGHT NOW.

It didn’t make any sense - he should just get on with it - but he sidled up to the corner and took a look anyway.

Max froze as a voice - a woman’s voice? - called out “Hey! Hey - uh - sir, can you call the police?There’s a guy - ”

Was she calling the cops on HIM? He hadn’t done anything wrong - not yet - but still, he HAD kinda broken into someone’s basement. But how would she know that?

Aw fuck, the coal dust. Was he covered in it? He wiped at his face but stopped. Probably making it worse -

He stood there uncertainly. He should get outta here - but on foot, or - ? He looked back at the car, but his attention was drawn back to the store entrance.

It was her - the suit woman - shouting in through the gas station door to the cashier guy.

“There’s a guy smashing up a motorbike round back - ”

Max took an involuntary step back. What the fuck? What motorbike?

“That way!” She pointed in the opposite direction, and quickly stepped aside to let the cashier barrel out the door, swearing and running full pelt towards the far corner of the building. The woman watched him go for a second, then dashed into the store.

What was happening here? Max watched her make straight for the cash register and - and he snapped to attention all at once. This was a robbery, and he needed to NOT BE HERE.

He crept back round the corner and - he really should’ve just WALKED away, but no - he made a dash for the convertible.

Sirens. He could definitely hear sirens. Or maybe it was just the blood buzzing in his ears. Either way, just just just GO.

A few minutes of autopilot later, Max had successfully got the car running without electrocuting himself. In fact, he was just shifting her into reverse when the suit woman appeared around the corner with a loaf of bread and bulging pockets.

Max met her Ray-Ban’d eye, illuminated in the headlights he’d just flicked on. He froze, caught. But she didn’t move, didn’t shout HEY! Surprised, yes. Tense and pursued, absolutely. But not ‘someone’s stealing my getaway car’ desperate.

Amused?

His temporary paralysis was broken by a sudden movement on her part. He flinched, reversed round the corner, shifted into first and floored the gas.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and doesn’t get far

Max had to take the long way round to find the exit. As he navigated bollards and trash cans, he kept an eye out for pursuit.

Those sirens definitely were NOT tinnitus - he could see blue lights approaching. Don’t panic - you’re just a normal guy getting gas and groceries.

And then the engine sputtered and died.

Oh Jesus, come on. He fumbled with the wires that hung from the steering column, but his head was buzzing too much and his breath coming too short. Time to cut and run.

He grabbed his bag from the passenger seat and walked hurriedly away. Nothing to see here.

With hooded lids Max watched the cop car approach - and fly on past - he breathed again - but the angry shouts from the gas station were enough to make him look around for somewhere to hide.

BANG!

Max flinched at the sound of gunshot - he crouched and looked back.

There was the suit woman pelting across the parking lot, hand on hat, loaf of bread lying in her wake. Max looked behind her at the garage attendant levelling his handgun for another shot, then lowering it. Phew.

She jumped into the abandoned car, fumbled around and the engine fired into life again - and shot forward. ‘Fuck, why’d it cut out?’ Max had time to wonder.

Then the car stopped. And reversed. Max muttered a curse and tried to blend further into the shadow of the electricity substation. An (armed?) robber pausing to take revenge on the person who stole their getaway? He was fucked.

“Hey! Dumbass! Get in!”

Max looked left and right, figuring out which way to run. Oh God, more sirens.

“I’m not kidding!” the woman yelled. “Cops’ll be here any second!”

She banged on the door of the car impatiently and revved the Triumph.

Fuck it.

Max got in.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max is swept along

The suit woman drove in silence, down side streets in no particular direction, doubling back on herself more often than not. Clearly not planning on leaving town.

Max had kept a close eye on the rear view all the way. Nobody following.

He risked a glance at her. How can she drive in those sunglasses? It’s still dark.

Rolling through slush-filled potholes, past garage doors, they finally came to a halt.

“Okay then” she announced to no one in particular. She reached over with her right hand and began un-prising her fingers from the stick shift. Max normally wouldn’t stare, but he wasn’t fully convinced she wasn’t going to take a swing at him.

He felt he ought to say something. “Sorry for taking your car” he offered, warily.

She shrugged slightly in a ‘it was inconvenient’ kinda way and continued adjusting her prosthetic hand. “Least I know it works.”

What works? Her hand? 

“Killswitch. My sister set it. She’s good with wires, but we didn’t have time to test it.” She glanced at him. “It’s not my car anyways.”

Max sagged a little and rubbed his forehead. What next? He was definitely not going to get any sleep tonight.

“Guy took me for the valet. Probably won’t notice it’s gone til morning.”

Max tilted his head. That was different. Someone hands you their keys and expects you to take their car away, you don’t wanna be rude.

“Did - did you rob the store back there?” he asked, a little redundantly.

“Mmm. Little bit.” She rested her head back on the seat, listening. All quiet, for now. Then she reached into her jacket pocket.

“Look. As far as they’re concerned, you’re my accomplice. I appreciate this has probably ruined your night.”

Max didn’t know what to say to that. His night hadn’t been going that great anyway. She finished counting the wad of fives and tens in her hand, with a satisfied nod.

“I need to take this” she waved a bundle of notes “to the Holiday Inn. Gotta settle our bill. The rest’s yours. Fair?”

Max looked down at the notes resting on her knee and reddened. That looked like at least twenty five bucks.

“I - okay” he faltered. This was not going as he’d expected.

“But I might need you to drive.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max is a Dumbass

“What’s O. S. A.?”

Max hadn’t meant to ask, but he felt it was the only way to stop himself staring at the prosthetic hand that had been on gear-shifting duty. Besides, he was a little more comfortable around her, now he knew she didn’t necessarily plan to kill or maim him.

She held out her right hand, palm down. Max squinted to read the letters tattooed on her knuckles. F U R I.

“Furi-osa. My name. Doing a gig here, my sister and me. The band ain’t never had room service before, and they got kinda carried away.”

She reattached her hand to the stick shift and started the ignition again. “So what’s your story?”

“Just trying to get outta the cold” Max replied, hugging himself. The roof was still folded down, at least for now, and the chill was creeping in.

“Hmph. A phone booth?”

Max shrugged uncomfortably. “Less trouble. People get funny when you break into their coal cellar.”

She glanced at him, once they’d rejoined the scanty traffic. “I guess you’ll wanna get that off your face, then. You’re all over coal dust.”

Max peered in the rear view and groaned. He looked like fuckin’ Dick van Dyke. He scrubbed his face with his sleeve, but it wasn’t doing much, just spreading it around more.

“Here. Check my pocket. Jacket.” She nodded down towards her left side.

Max reached cautiously into her outer pocket, hoping that was the one she meant. He closed his fist around lots of little paper sachets.

Fran’s Chicken Shack. That’s a lot of wet wipes.

Five minutes later he was smudge-free, with a lap full of little grey-black balls of tissue. He sniffed at his fingers. Lemony.

“We’re here.”

*

So this was the plan. She would drive them to the Holiday Inn, pull up somewhere round back. Max would wait in the driver’s seat, now knowing how to disable the killswitch under the seat.

It’s not like she suddenly trusted him not to steal her car. In fact, she’d said if she wasn’t back in twenty minutes, he should take it and go. Because, one way or another, she wouldn’t be needing it. It was a strange situation.

When she’d asked his name, he’d shook his head. It was a fair question - she’d told him hers -  but he’d tried to pass it off with a shrug and a ‘what does it matter?’.

It was kinda ungracious to someone who’d just given him money and lemon wipes. But he couldn’t afford to give his name.

She’d sighed, exasperated, and got out. Standing by the driver’s door, she’d simply said “Fine. When I yell "dumbass," you drive out of here as fast as you can. Okay?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max is reliable

He watched her - Furiosa - hang around by the kitchen door for a few seconds, then grab a discarded box from the trash. A kitchen worker came out for a smoke and, after exchanging two words he held the door for her to go in. It was that easy - a delivery! Why the delivery woman was wearing a suit and sunglasses at night was a moot point.

No doubt, Max was impressed. She clearly wanted to complete her errand unnoticed - by whom? The cops, presumably. But he was still confused. He wondered why she didn’t take her hat and glasses off - he’d assumed they were a disguise for the gas station robbery.

He let out a long breath and checked his watch again. He’d just have to keep his eyes and ears open.

If she didn’t come back - ? Could he just drive off? He had a bad feeling he’d have to go in there -

“DUMBASS!!!”

The sound seemed to bypass his ears and go straight to his spinal cord. He slammed the Triumph into first and floored the gas.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max gets cosy

Once they’d got clear of town, and there was no longer any sign of pursuit, Max took a proper look at Furiosa. She was rigid, staring straight ahead, her good hand clenched, tatooed letters reading clear against white knuckles. She was wound up tight like a spring. 

“Are you okay? Did it work?” he asked for about the third time.

This time came a reply. “Yup.”

“Good. You sure you’re okay? You look kinda - ”

Just then she shifted in her seat and Max saw a dark stain where her white shirtfront clung wetly. He swore under his breath, swerved and pulled up at the roadside.

“Hey!” she protested, at the sudden stop. “What’s the matter?”

“You’re hurt - ” he pulled her jacket open carefully and looked at the red splash, which seemed a lot less ‘bloody’ under the direct beam of streetlight.

“Uh - no. Soup” she mumbled, then gave a shout of laughter that ended in a tragic groan. “I’m going back in the joint.”

“You sure you’re not hurt? You’re a bit - ” Max waved his hand woozily.

“Fine, fine. Really good” she insisted, her syllables clipped and short.

“When’d you sleep last?” he asked, gruff in his relief.

“Mmm?”

“Right.”

Across the highway, up the hill, he could see the remains of an old coal mine. That would do. Quiet, out of sight. He pulled up behind a stand of scrubby trees.

They were on a rise overlooking a pool of water that reflected the moonlight. It’d be almost nice if it wasn’t so damn cold. He reached down to release the trunk catch and went to see what was in there. Please - no more surprises.

But no - it was exactly as he’d hoped. Two woollen blankets, folded up neat in the tiny space.

He draped them over his shoulder, wrestling with the folding roof til he got it in place. Furiosa was already nodding, arms folded. Max got back into the driver’s seat and tucked the blanket round her.

Celebrating his recent acquisition of wealth, he got out his bread and jelly once more. Ohboy this was better. Warm blanket, a roof over his head - after the last few weeks, canvas definitely counted - and more of Bea’s raspberry jam.

“ - hi-de-hey - ” Furiosa mumbled in her sleep, which made Max smile, until she followed it up with “baby dontcha wanna go - ”

Whereupon a lump formed in Max’s throat, almost enough to stop his mouthful of bread from going down. Could he go back? Chicago had never been all that kind to him, but it was home.

Hi-de-hey, he sighed to himself. He didn’t have to decide right now. Blues Mothers, eh? He’d have to remember that. They’d  sounded pretty good.

Max was absorbed in licking the jam from his fingers when he glanced over at the passenger seat.

Furiosa was awake, watching him with interest. He knew this because her sunglasses were rakishly askew and he could see one green eye. She knocked them back into place as she sat up straight. Probably hungry, Max reckoned.

“Time is it?” she stretched.

“'Bout four thirty” he replied, wiping his fingers on his jeans. “You want some of this? Bread and jam. Oh, and Spam too, if you like.” He felt like being hospitable.

“Oh, shit - the bread!” she clapped her hand to her forehead. “I dropped it. Could I take a couple slices for Val? She’s kind of a picky eater.”

Max handed over four slices, which Furiosa promptly tucked in her inner pocket with a quirk of the mouth. Definitely a smile, though it’d taken a couple of hours acquaintance for him to be so sure.

“You want some?” he repeated.

“Nah, I’m good, thanks.”

Max shrugged neutrally. More for him. A double-take as she pulled something from her OTHER inner pocket. Something wrapped in a greasy napkin. The smell had Max’s mouth watering. Oh my God, he thought. It’s a drumstick. A half-eaten drumstick.

He must’ve been gawping more pitifully than he’d intended. Because she peeled off a strip and popped it between his lips before he was aware. Oh my God. He unfocused a little as the taste overwhelmed him. It’d been far too long.

Recollecting himself, he confusedly handed over the remains of his jam sandwich. Only two bites really, but it was a trade. 

They finished eating in silence and looked out over the moonlight water. Not too bad at all.

“Your turn. Sleep. I’ll keep an eye out for company.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max the feral

Max woke with a jolt - he was falling, or something was slipping away. He grabbed at it - the only security he had left - and missed.

She caught it before it hit the footwell - and looked up at him in surprise.

Ashamed, Max quickly secured the grenades back into the bag from which they had fallen. Ashamed of his reaction - a sharp DON’T! as she caught them, was a case of ‘mine!’ gone too far - and of his idiot complacency in failing to zip up his fucking bag.

“Sorry” he muttered. Her carefully neutral expression as she handed the satchel of highly illegal PG-2s back to him. Would she be scared of him now? Unwashed and homeless, sure - but now she knew he was dangerous and probably crazy as well.

“It’s a - souvenir. Not supposed to have it.” He pulled up his knees and hugged the bag close, defensively.

“It’s okay. I just caught it in case it got damaged. Or blew up.”

“It wouldn’t” he shook his head. “They’re not armed. It’s safe.”

“Go back to sleep” she sighed. “I won’t touch your stuff, I promise.” She curled up in her seat and turned away.

*

Max fidgeted but couldn’t get to sleep again. Neither could she, by the sound of it. Max looked furtively at her, as she rummaged in another pocket and produced a fresh pack of smokes. “You want?” she offered the pack to him.

He smiled ruefully and took one. She reached for the lighter on the dash and grunted.

“Want to run the engine for a bit?” she asked. Max obliged, and they lit up in turn. He hadn’t had a smoke in weeks, months maybe. Not as good as fried chicken, but still very welcome.

“Music?” she whipped out an old eight track, The Best of Sam and Dave.

Max nodded. Hell yeah - in fact, the only thing that could make this night any better would be getting laid. His face instantly flamed. Yeah, way to make this awkward, Max. Jeez.

“Y’know, that was some pretty hot driving back there” she exhaled. “Almost as good as Val.”

“Val must be pretty good then” he grinned, grateful to find the strained atmosphere clearing again. The music crackled into life,  
‘Soothe me, soothe me, soothe me, soothe me, soothe me’

She took a deep drag. “The car’s yours. I mean, the cops might have something to say about it, but I won’t be needing it. Just drive me back to town.”

Max didn’t know what to say. He could only look at her, some weird kind of human-shaped whirlwind. It had been a strange and wonderful evening.

“Also - ” she wrapped herself tightly in her blanket. “I know you were planning to get out of town, but - if you wanted to stick around - my friend Cass Calloway is looking for help at the Blessed Shroud Orphanage in Calumet City. She’d pay you decent.”

Max’s breath stuck in his throat. He couldn’t stay here. If he had a car again, he could head for somewhere warm and far away.

He shook his head. “I’ve gotta make my own way.”

Furiosa nodded. She didn’t say she understood, but she didn’t try and talk him round. He was almost disappointed, but didn’t know why.

‘Oh, how I used to rumble   
And how I used to roam  
Oh, since I met this baby of mine  
All I want do is stay at home  
Everybody now - ’

No. He’d got all screwed up to go and he wouldn’t change that. “Sometimes you just gotta move on.”

“Yeah. Come on. Let’s go.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max makes a U-turn

Max drove them back to the alleyway they’d stopped at a few hours ago. It was still dark - November had its advantages after all.

Furiosa selected a garage door with a damaged lock and checked inside. Empty. She slid it open and Max backed the Triumph in. They’d agreed he should stash it away somewhere for a few days til the dust had settled.

“Thanks.” Max held out a hand awkwardly.

Furiosa smiled and wrapped him in a bear hug instead, squeezing the breath out of him in a cloud. “Been nice knowing ya. Take care, yeah?”

She turned and walked away up the alley.

“You too” he called out. She pivoted on her heel, nodded and walked on. Then froze at the woop-woop of a police car in the street. Two cops stepped into view, one talking into a radio.

“ - robbery at Coal City Stop n Shop, suspects believed to be armed and dangerous - ”

The cops turned and stared.

*

Running down the alley, Max heard the siren from behind. Good. The cops had clearly decided to take the less strenuous method of pursuit, which would hopefully give them a chance to lose ‘em.

*

Crouching behind a dumpster was playing havoc with Max’s knee and he couldn’t hide it any longer. “You should go, I’m only slowing you down.”

She silently shushed him and shook her head. The crackle of the radio could still be heard on the street beyond.

There was no obvious way out, whether to stick together or separate. Should they go back for the car and head out of town? No, it was probably a liability right now. And the cops probably had a description of both him and Furiosa from the gas station guy. Armed and dangerous? Probably some bystander heard the cashier’s gunshots and assumed it was them. Shit.

“All units, Illinois State Police! We have a 501, I repeat, a 501 in progress - ”

Screech of tyres. Max and Furiosa looked at each other. Wow. Must be serious.

Furiosa peeked round the corner. “All clear.” She looked at her watch. “I said I’d meet the band back at the Holiday Inn. Probably a bad idea though.”

She rummaged in her pants pocket and produced a quarter. “I gotta make a call.”

*

Max sat on a low wall near the phone booth and stretched out his leg, watching and listening for trouble.

“Who’s that? Toast? No wait, shuddup a minute - LISTEN! Get Val! - okay, TELL Val to pick me up - ” she looked at the crude map on the phone booth wall “ - the Dairy Queen on East Coal City Road. Okay? I don’t know when - soon - just meet me there.”

She stepped out and joined him.

“Okay. I should get walking while it’s still dark. What about you?”

“I can hole up in the garage for a while. Thanks for the car.”

“Goodbye - again. Take care.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Wait, your money!”

He raised both hands - it felt wrong to take it now - but he didn’t have time to argue the point because

“Freeze! Hands up!”

*

“What’s the matter, officer?” Furiosa turned, her hands raised in view, one holding her wallet. Max’s were already up, but he bobbed them higher to be on the safe side.

“Oh, sorry ma’am. It looked for a moment like you were robbing this man. Ahaha.”

“Ahaha!” Furiosa and Max laughed.

The cop’s radio crackled and he turned away with a “Beg y’pardon.”

Furiosa raised her eyebrows and Max nodded very slightly. They got up and walked away quietly. Then broke into a run at the sound of HEY! FREEZE! I MEAN IT THIS TIME!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max and Furiosa go to ground

Max remembered an old family friend say - what was it? - a good cop chases, a wise cop waits for backup. Something like that anyway.

Their boy back there - he’s a wise cop. For which Max was very thankful.

“Up there! The ladder!” Furiosa grabbed his arm, pointing at a sliding fire escape that had been left down. It led to a balcony that ran the whole length of the second floor.

Furiosa clambered up first and Max followed, his knee protesting with every rung. She gave a hand when he got to the top and, between them, they managed to slide the ladder up before the cavalry arrived. They hit the deck and kept very very quiet.

The two cops mooched around, checking doorways and poking into trash cans.

“Fuck OFF” Furiosa muttered through clenched teeth, hugging herself as the icy wind bit. A shirt and suit were not ideal winter layers, but Max supposed it was just her stage outfit. For once, he felt well off in his sweatshirt and leather jacket. Still fucking freezing, though. There was no shelter up here and they couldn’t move on ‘til the cops did.

Or could they? Max leaned forward and craned his neck to look down the length of the balcony. Lots of doors, windows all blanked out with swirls of that white stuff they put in empty shop windows. A motel, by the look of it. Closed for refurbishment? Max did not normally get that kind of luck.

He crept along and peered through a window. Too dark inside to make out details, but it looked empty. Boxes and workbenches, maybe - not furnished like a bedroom. As good a place to hide out as any; until clocking on time, anyway.

He fished an old library card out of his pocket, and worked at the gap with numb fingers for a few seconds, not really expecting it to work.

Click. Ohhhh yes.

“Furiosa” he whispered, glancing at her. He could see her in his peripheral vision, leaning forward, crouched low, attention fixed on what was going on down below. Max could see nothing, on his knees as he was, and he was too far away to hear.

Whatever’s going on down there, they’d be better off behind a closed door. Which was thankfully now OPEN. He turned to attract her attention, and flinched as a sudden movement caught his eye -

Max expected trouble - cops, a fall, anything. He didn’t expect to see her on her feet, letting fly a beautiful pitch. Whatever she threw - and it was less aerodynamic than a baseball - he guessed it hit its mark, because -

CLANG!

‘Who’s there? FREEZE!’ and the sound of cop shoes break into a run, chasing an imaginary fugitive. Getting fainter. Gone.

Max did a little involuntary bounce. That was genius! But no time for congratulations; he scrambled to his feet and into the shadowy room, hoping it was as empty as it’d looked through the window.

His feet tangled in something but he managed to keep his balance - until Furiosa collided with him from behind and bowled him over. They fell with a thump in a pile of electric flex and wood shavings.

Furiosa recovered instantly, scuttling on all fours to quietly close and lock the door behind them.

Max picked himself up and parked his ass by a crate of something. He let out a long breath of relief - then blinked in surprise as she grabbed him by the head and SMACK! kissed him on the forehead.

“Yes! Fucking GENIUS!” she hissed excitedly, giving his cheek a pat, before sitting back on her heels. 

Max huffed a nervous laugh, feeling the heat flood his face at the unexpected contact. Wait, did she mean HIM for getting them a hiding place? He ducked his head at the idea, smiled to himself in the dark. It was a big improvement on Dumbass.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much tension, and what came of it.

  
“What happened out there?” he asked as Furiosa made herself comfortable next to him. She butt-shuffled closer until her shoulder and hip met his.

She was still shivering. No wonder; it’s always coldest just before dawn, right?

Max wished they were well enough acquainted for him to put his arm round her - for warmth, obviously. He figured 24 hours would be a minimum, and they’d  barely had six.

Besides, he hadn’t showered in - no, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d showered. He was amazed she’d got THIS close. Max didn’t even like being this close to himself right now.

“Was a real nice throw” he nodded.

“What? Oh. Yeah. They were talking about checking this place, and you’d got the door open already. So I pitched my wallet at those trash cans, y’know? I THINK it worked.”

She tilted her head, listening. 

Silence. No sound out there. Good. But Max frowned. “Your wallet?”

“Don’t worry, I got your cash right here” she said, tucking up the corner of her mouth into what he knew by now to be a smile. He could make out that much in the dim light.

Max tutted. “No, I don’t mean that. Don’t you have ID in there? Driver’s license?”

Furiosa shrugged. “Nope. Couple of bucks - maybe - that’s it. Here, take this.”

Max evaded the roll of notes she waved at him. “No - I don’t want it.”

“TAKE it” she persisted.

He turned toward her and put a hand on her arm. “No.” He was aiming at quiet but firm, and hoped it’d work. It did too, because she frowned and leaned forward like to stare him down. All that happened was she knocked her hat askew against his head.

“Ohhh, you’re SUCH a dumbass” she observed, sounding mildly exasperated - whether at his refusal or at having to adjust her headgear only she knew.

Just then a flashlight beam cut through the murky darkness. Furiosa grabbed Max, and they flattened themselves low to the floor as the light probed the room.

The door-handle rattled.

Don’t breathe.

“It’s locked. They’re all locked. Nobody here” they heard wise-cop’s voice. “Yeah. Fuck it. Let’s go. Freezin’ my nuts off here” his backup agreed.

Receding footsteps. They waited, breathing shallowly, Max’s heart going like a trip-hammer.

Silence again.

They raised themselves up from their huddle on the dusty carpet. Those damn cops were playing havoc with Max’s nerves, and Furiosa was clearly of the same opinion, for all she expressed it differently.

She let out a shuddering lungful, her shoulders shaking in silent laughter.

“Y’alright?” Max asked; in response to which she reached out and pressed her fingers gently to his lips, her own pouted in a laughing ‘SSH’.

Ohh, but that was too much for Max’s frayed nerves. He’d been doing so well but her fingers smelled like fried chicken and his intake of breath was a little more of a gasp than he would’ve liked. Don’t lick them, Max, for God’s sake. Don’t make this weird.

Then they were gone, pausing for a moment to bury themselves in his mess of a beard.

Shit shit shit. Ever since his slip of the brain in the car earlier, he’d tried not to make things awkward. But there was no denying that she was seriously hot, with her curled lip and her dimple and her fuck-you demeanour. Her fingers that had fed him chicken and won his heart.

And him an unwashed stray she found in a phone booth. Impossible. But it was like a raspberry pip stuck in his teeth, and - this? This was really not helping. He gave himself the mental equivalent of a cold shower. Don’t make this awkward.

He hadn’t reckoned on her reaching up with her plastic arm, hooking the leg of her sunglasses and slipping them off. All Max’s caution was instantly forgotten.

They’d been saying goodbye for the last hour, and every time it’d been Max’s biggest regret that he’d never seen her eyes - beyond that accidental glimpse back at the coal mine. Just a little thing, but -

He had only half a second to study them before a tug on his sweatshirt, a bewildering glorious confusion of lips, tongues, teeth -

\- it was all a bit of a blur after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a tricky one to write. She’s extremely wired because she’s just robbed a gas station and has almost got away with it - consequently is keen to release some pent-up tension with this nice getaway driver with fascinating lips and remarkable rocket launcher that she’s picked up along the way. Whereas he feels like a smelly loser who really has no business hitting on this very attractive and mysterious blues-band lady who carries fried chicken in her pocket and scams gas stations when low on cash - and besides is absolutely not interested in him anyway. 
> 
> Not sure how well that comes across here, but I tried!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max does his best

Max leaned on the bathroom sink, unsure how well his legs would support him.

That HAD just happened, right? His unzipped fly and the comfortable ache in his cock were not reliable witnesses. He may have just had a very lucid wet dream and then got up to piss. But that taste in his mouth - that offered up very specific memories. He couldn’t imagine THAT, could he?

He leaned back on his heels and looked out the bathroom door. There was Furiosa sitting, slumped languidly, head back against the wall, eyes closed. Breathing out a long slow stream of smoke between pursed lips. Dishevelled, shirt half-tucked into her waistband. Minus a shoe.

She looked way more relaxed than he’d ever seen her. Seeing him, she offered her cigarette with a half-smile and a questioning tilt of the head. He shook his head hurriedly and ducked back out of view, still catching up with events.

That’s when a sudden movement up close had him nearly jumping out of his skin. What was that THING dangling from his fingers? He looked closer - ugh. Oh. A used rubber? - still warm, so he guessed he hadn’t fished it out of the trash in a fit of abstraction.

Wow. The blood rushed to his face. Well then.

“Dumbass?” Furiosa’s voice sounded husky and sleepy. “Y’alright?”

Yeah he was alright. Very alright. But.

He wished he’d told her his name. Maybe it wasn’t too late. He replayed the last fifteen-minutes-that-definitely-happened. Imagine if, instead of ‘Dumbass’, she called his actual name? Or just SAID it. That’d be good too.

He turned to speak, his lips silently practicing the words - ‘Max - that’s my name’ - when the unwelcome sound of sirens burst their tranquil bubble.

“Fuck!” Furiosa sprang up, scrambling for her hat and sunglasses laying nearby.

Max bolted to the window, flicking the rubber impatiently away. He peered through a gap in the white paint.

A cop car had just pulled up in the parking lot. Two cops getting out. Coming very directly THIS WAY. Furiosa joined him at the window, her quick breath moving the hair on top of his head.

“We can make a run for it. Look!” she hissed, as the cops hut-hutted towards the building. “They’re starting at that end.”

She turned away, muttering “But where’s my goddamn SHOE??”

A grunt of triumph and she reappeared at his shoulder, pulling on her shoe with a hop and a grimace. “You ready?”

But there had been developments. He shook his head sharply. “Nope. No good. Take a look”

She groaned, seeing what he saw. As well as the two cops busy in breaking open the furthest door, there was a third one occupied in watching the rest of the motel complex. They wouldn’t get away unnoticed. Not without a diversion, anyway.

A diversion! He could do that.

He dashed into the bathroom and looked up at the ceiling. Yes! It was there, an access hatch he’d half-noticed a few moments earlier when he’d had more important issues on his mind.

With a grunt, he pulled himself up through the hatch onto the flat roof, pulled up his hood and looked quickly around in the brightening dawn light. Two cop cars, empty, about eight feet apart. No civilians nearby. Commuter traffic out of range. New Hope Presbyterian Church with Coal City Girl Scouts bus parked outside. Empty, fifty to sixty feet from cop cars.

One shot, two targets, no collateral damage. Safe.

He stuck his head through the hatch, to see Furiosa looking at him curiously, some kind of power tool in hand. He looked curiously back again.

“Uh - could you pass my bag?” he asked, pointing to the floor by the toilet.

“Whatcha doing, Dumbass?” she asked, tipping her chin inquiringly.

“Diversion. What’s that for?” pointing at the tool.

She looked at it and shrugged. “Well - thought I could cut through the wall - make an exit, someplace to hide?”

She swapped it for his bag, looked dubiously up at him and, with care, hoisted it up to his waiting hands.

He grabbed it and climbed to his knees. “Okay. Diversion. Yeah? Wait for the signal, THEN run.”

“Right. What’s the signal?”

“Big explosion.”

“Okay then!” she nodded, and turned on her heel.

Okay then. Heart pounding, he fished out the gun and loaded one of his two rockets.

*

It occurred to Max afterwards that he could’ve explained his plan better. More painful yet was the realisation that both of them could’ve simply found a hiding place on the roof, someplace out of sight of the traffic birds.

To say that had regrets would be an understatement.

She’d run, though, as soon as the target blew. But there’d been more cops just round the block. There always were. 

Max had crossed the roof, gotten onto the adjacent building somehow and run the length of it toward the sound of sirens and shouting - just in time to see her cuffed and being put in the back of a cop car. He loaded his last rocket, looking for a safe target.

No good. Not safe.

Furiosa saw him - she raised her fingers in a negative, and shook her head slightly. She knew there was no way out of this one.

Max lowered the gun and shivered. Reality bit. It really was goodbye this time.

He watched numbly as the police car drove off with its siren singing triumphantly. Not knowing what else to do, Max trudged across the rooftops back to the motel and sat limply on the roof, watched the wrecked cop cars get towed. The area was a crime scene for a few hours til the cops got bored and cleared it away again. No one searched the roof, no one bothered him.

They could’ve hidden up there, safe. Maybe the worst thing that would’ve happened was she missed her ride home from the Dairy Queen.

He was such a Dumbass.


End file.
